Spun Together
by InsaneInk
Summary: Oneshot! Implied Wincest. Some fluff at the end. Mainly brother's arguing, then a solution, and then love. Enjoy


Okay,** before you start**, I know that this kind of thing is a cliche.

BUT, I wrote this waaaaaaaaay long ago, when I first started in the SPN fandom.

No flames, WINCEST not graphic, but implied.

Read on ye trusty reviewers.

* * *

"Dean."

Dean whirled around at the sound of his name, to see Sam sitting in a chair watching him intently. He had a look on his face, the look that meant he wanted to talk about what had happened. Those damn eyes, always so open and understanding, it seemed to Dean. He didn't like it. Dean wasn't talking about it. It was his fault, his alone, and it would never happen again.

"No Sam."

"But Dean-"

"Goddammit Sam!" Dean growled and walked up to the table where Sam sat slamming his hands on it. "Can't you just fucking leave it alone?"

Sam stood up, the openness that was on his face seconds before gone, replaced by fury. He stalked forward till he was in Dean's face. _Oh God. Please don't get closer. Please._

"No Dean, I can't. I can't leave it be because it is not one of those things that we can just ignore and pretend never happened. Like you-" Sam shoved Dean backwards, "Seem to want to do _all the goddamn time_!"

Dean stumbled a bit before regaining his balance, and walked right back up to Sam. He wanted to punch him, he wanted to scream the truth at him, he wanted to- _No. Not ever again._

"You're such a prick Dean. You want me to tell you everything about me, like I'm not allowed to have secrets, but when I want to know something that's about you, you fucking shove me away and say it's nothing."

Sam was using his height as a weapon, towering over Dean, his whole body tense and screaming 'I'm serious.' Fine. If Sam wanted to use his height then Dean would use his own weapon. It was a delicate balance, when the brothers fought. And how it would end depended on what was said and how many punches were thrown, if any.

"Sam." Dean leaned up into Sam's face, to look him in the eyes. Dean tried not the smell, to breath in _Sam, _to smell a scent similar to his own but different. The smell of sweat, dirt, that apple scented girly shampoo that lasted all day, and the coppery tang of blood that was still drying on Sam's forehead. Dean started to lean into the smell, it was Sam, his Sam, and he wanted to be able to smell it forever; before he caught himself and pulled back a little.

"I said, _leave it._" Sam flinched a little, at the voice that was so much like their father's, the commanding tone that was never meant to be questioned, just obeyed. But Dean made a mistake. He should have known that the voice Sam had fought for years would only make him fight again. He could se the determination in Sam's eyes, and he was going to find out one way or the other.

Dean only got angrier.

"Dammit Sam!" Dean threw his hands up and backed away before he got to close again. "You just have to chase everything don't you? Find out all the answers about every goddamn thing. You can't just let it slide, just this once-"

"Dean you kissed me." Sam ran his hand through his hair before dropping it limply and laughing. It wasn't a laugh directed at Dean, or the situation. It was self-aimed, a cold laughter, and that scared Dean more than anything. _Was Sam blaming himself? _

Dean pushed away the thought that wanted to know why, why would Sam blaming himself for something that was completely and entirely Dean's fault, and focused on making Sam know it wasn't him.

"Sam. It- it wasn't your fault." Dean scrubbed at his face and turned towards the window, looking at anything but Sam. He couldn't stand to see the look on his brother's face when he made the connection of _why _Dean kissed him. Dean had wanted to for years, since Sam had run off to college. He never acted on it though. He was the big brother, it was his job to protect Sam, not fuck him.

"It was mine, and I- it was- It'll never happen again. Sorry." Dean turned, expecting to see disgust, horror, or something worse. But all he saw was a confused mixture of indecipherable emotions.

"It…….won't?" There was something in Sam's voice that Dean couldn't read.

"No Sam. It won't" It made Dean unhappy to say it, his stomach sinking at the thought of never being able to love his brother that way. Sam was the only thing that mattered, though. So when Sam's face sunk Dean was lost. _Why would Sam be sad?_

"But…it was on purpose, right?"

Dean was beginning to flush; he didn't get the tone of Sam's voice. There was sadness, some anger, and was that…hope?

"Yeah, Sam. It was- it was on purpose."

Dean's hands began clenching and unclenching at his sides, ready to bolt if Sam got angry.

"Then why?"

Dean froze completely, and he could hear the hammering of his heart.

"Why what Sam?" He tried to hide the shakiness in is voice, the unsure quavering that wracked his body.

"Why not again?" And Sam sounded sure, so goddamn sure that Dean couldn't help but get pissed. He had lived with this for years, unsure and scared of what might happen if Sam ever found out. Sam had known not even for five _minutes, _and he was already sure.

"Because it's wrong Sam! Because we're brothers! It is wrong, and what would other people-"

"Dean since when do you give a crap about what other people think?"

Sam had him there. "Other people as in Bobby and Ellen, Jo, all the other hunters, I mean come on Sam! You're the one with the college education; you fill in the fucking blanks."

"Since when?" Dean was about to say 'Since when what?' but the glare he got from Sam told him that Sam knew he wasn't stupid, and yeah Dean knew what Sam was asking but he _really _didn't want to answer. He couldn't help but do it anyway because Sam switched from a glare to the big, wide puppy dog eyes that got him anything.

"College. Since you left." Dean slumped down and sat on the edge of his bed, defeated.

Sam sighed and sat down in the chair again. Dean's eyes slid to the floor.

"I'm sorry Sam I didn't-"

"I was sixteen." Dean just listened, he had no clue what was going on in Sam's head.

"I remember it like it wasn't nine years ago."

Dean looked up from the floor, eyes focused on Sam, who was gazing at the window, not really seeing anything. His own eyes were glazed, thinking back. Dean wasn't sure is he_ wanted_ to know what Sam was talking about.

"I was sixteen Dean. Sixteen when I walked in on you and Faith Kyller from down the street banging in your room. My club had ended early, and I wanted to borrow your Glock for target practice with Dad. He was on my case after I missed the werewolf in Colorado."

Sam sighed and leaned back in the chair. Dean fidgeted. This was going somewhere, somewhere important. It would change them.

"I walked in, and instead of wanting to say sorry, or just walk out and pretend it never happened, I wanted to walk in there, rip that bitch off of you and yell, 'Why are you fucking her when I'm _right here?_'"

Dean's breathing hitched in his throat.

"Sammy…"

"Instead all I did was shut the door and walk into my room. Dean if you think you've lived with this for awhile then you're wrong. I lived with that image and used it, many times. Dean, you're not the only one. So why? Why shouldn't we? I want it Dean, it's not…"

He sighed again and finally looked at Dean.

At this point Dean had no idea what his face looked like. He had fallen into a continual and repeating thought; _He wants this, he wants to, and I want it; So why not? Why did I say no? Why, did I, Say No?_

Sam was still looking at Dean, the expressions on his face ranging from apprehension, guilt, want, and then, then he saw Dean's blank face…..anger.

"You know what Dean? Just, forget I said anything." He stood up, grabbing his jacket and shrugging into it. "We'll just go back to being awkward all the fucking time, and maybe we'll just start to avoid each other completely, and if the world is nice we'll fuck up on a hunt and die a quick painless death." Sam started walking towards the door. "I just thought that maybe, since we already have a life as far from normal as you can get that we could de something that would actually make us _happy, _because I don't know about you Dean, but this would have made me very, very ha-"

Sam was cut off, and Dean's mouth was a little occupied, so he settled for shoving his tongue into Sam's mouth, a very simple gesture meaning 'Shut the fuck up, Sammy.' Sam shut up. Except for a tiny, (and it was really small, because if Dean said anything about being a girl Sam would clock him where he stood,) whimper that left his throat and Dean just smirked and kissed even harder, dragging his hands up and down Sam's back.

And for the life of him, Sam could just not think of anything better to do than to wipe that goddamn _smirk _off of Dean's face. He did just that when he pushed Dean backwards towards the bed and shrugged off two out of three layers while walking after him.

It wasn't sex per say, but it was wonderful and new, something that was just for themselves.

And if Dean really liked how Sam cuddled up to him after, a lazy and peaceful descent from heated words, he wasn't going to say so. Sam said it for him.

"I love you Dean. Always have." He mumbled into Dean's chest. "Always will."

Dean moved his hand up to Sam's hair, a gentle motion counteracting his words.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

A/N: At least I didn't use the 'I never loved Jessica' or 'She was just a stand-in for you' cliche.

God I hate those. If you've written one, my apologies, but I just can't wrap my head around Sam not loving her.

I mean, he was a WRECK when she died.

**Anyway, R&R please!**


End file.
